


Goes Without Saying

by Nimgrade



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aromantic, Car Conversations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28578084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimgrade/pseuds/Nimgrade
Summary: “I know that, of course you must know I know that.”An unconventional response to a familiar expression.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 67
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Goes Without Saying

“I know that, of course you must know I know that.”

Shocked silence emanates from the passenger seat. Crowley glances over to see Aziraphale caught somewhere between offense and consternation. “What sort of a response—?” he starts. “What _was_ that?”

Crowley frowns. “Well, what did you expect me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale says, still looking and sounding nonplussed. “Assuming you weren’t rendered speechless by the emotion of it all, I believe ‘I love you too’ is traditional.”

Traditional. He’s certainly not one to stand in the way of the angel’s emphasis on tradition. “All right then, I love you too.”

“If I didn’t know better I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Well of course it sounds flat and unconvincing when you force it into words like that! What’s even the point—?”

“It’s romantic!”

He looks at him curiously, for long enough that Aziraphale’s gaze flicks rapidly between the windscreen and the steering wheel. “Does that matter to you?” he asks, turning back to the road.

Aziraphale opens his mouth but stops before speaking. His brow furrows.

“Because if it does, by all means, I’ll pick up some candles and roses, and we can repeat those traditional mantras until the draw of real conversation becomes undeniable, but—I never got the impression that you wanted any of that.”

“I… didn’t…” Aziraphale seems to flounder. “I wanted your companionship; I wanted a chance for the two of us to coexist without excuses, without the threat of constant surveillance. I wanted not just a clandestine arrangement, but an open partnership.”

“Are we romantic partners, then?”

“We—no, no, that doesn’t seem right at all.”

“Anyway, these are the questions you invite when you go around saying things as obvious as ‘I love you’ with no clear follow-up.”

Aziraphale seems to sink deep in thought for the next few minutes.

Fearing he’s come across too callous, Crowley turns off the motorway—their departure time was dangerously close to punctual, anyway; at least now they can show up fashionably late to whatever Anathema’s concocted—and consults his internal map of the city. He pulls up presently in front of a chocolatier, asking Aziraphale to wait in the car.

Whether or not this shop sold chocolate roses before he entered, there’s one waiting for him now in a tall vase on the counter. A quick exchange of bills, and he climbs back in the Bentley, sliding the red foil-wrapped confection across the dashboard. The angel blinks away his reverie.

“There you are,” Crowley says. “Just this once, a _traditional_ token of my affection.”

Aziraphale, clearly trying not to smile, admonishes that he didn’t need to.

“ _I_ may not need to do this, but if you’d like me to, that’s… reason enough.”

“Oh, Crowley.” A mischievous glint touches Aziraphale’s eyes as he says, with clear emphasis, “Thank you, that’s a _love_ ly gesture.”

“Don’t start that again.” Crowley puts the car in gear. “But yes.”


End file.
